


Adrenaline and Her Liars

by otakuashels



Series: Dread Wolf and the Halla [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 17:47:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4147080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otakuashels/pseuds/otakuashels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liar. At least not now, despite the hurt.  But the adrenaline was worth it.  "Why waste food on the body, time. Why waste it on the body when the root is lacking. When it is the soul that is malnourished?" Almost riddles. Philosophy. Question for a question. His game not hers. You must sleep in the bed you make.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adrenaline and Her Liars

**Author's Note:**

> No chapters are in chronological order unless stated. Ratings may vary

"By the Dread Wolf!" was the screech ringing out over the battle. Blades clashed against one another, spells splicing through land and foe. Adrenaline coursed through her veins and the stuttering of breath through her lungs, she couldn't help the near cynical smile contorting her features, fire surging from her palms. " Fen Ma ghilana mir din'an!" (wolf guide me unto death). The stench of charred corpse, screams preluding death and unanswered pleas of mercy, horrible. But the adrenaline, it was worth it. Lowering her staff, smearing blood across her cheekbones with the back of her hand, the sign of an enemy getting to close for comfort. Rose tinged iris's took in the sight of once clean robes, now decorated with the gruesome palate of battle. Filthy, sticky and lukewarm. The adrenaline, it was worth it. 

"Inquisitor?"  
"Hm?" the Dalish women owning the title glanced over at the Tevinter mage, staring at her with a look of uncertainty "Dorian?" 

"Are you alright?" his expression matched those of the dwarf and the soon to be Warden. 

"Of course" she shrugged, allowing a squeamish look to cover up her recent expression "I am just feeling quite nasty and wish to bath" That lie seemed to suffice. The accepting looks exchanged between the three males alerted her it was accepted. She had always had a thing for being clean, so it appeared quite ordinary. "We are close to the Upper Lake Camp and the sun is beginning to sink, maybe we should head back? I really want a bath, even before I eat" another lie, normally not one, but now it was. Liar. The slight rolling burn of guilt deep in her belly, her discomfort, she held no love for false words and confirmations. Bathing, eating, sitting around a campfire with her closet comrades, warm on wine, it sounded miserable. Maybe later. But right now, right now she wanted another fight. Discerning from weary faces, and heavy shoulders she was alone in the sentiment. But the small thrill at the moment, they believed her, she was getting away with secret feelings, she would regret it certainly, later, not now but later. She was liar, unworthy of their trust, but for now. The adrenaline was worth it. Liar. 

"Well lets get a move on then shall we?" Dorian smiled, she mirrored the gesture. Reflections weren't lies, just not whole truths. Chatter was far and in-between, it would only return with fully bellies and wineskins, as was tradition. Frankly, she was alright with that, with silence she was able to focus on the low hum inside her breast, keeping her heart just ever so slightly elevated. Enter the camp. Nod to the salutes of soldiers, check in with the captain, leave her staff by her bedroll, watch her companions head for the cook. Ignore the concerned look of the cook. It was simple, it was routine. 

"I am going to bath before I eat" she announced "I won't be able to swallow, all gross like this" she shuddered. Liar. Gathering up her washing bag and a second set of clothing she smiled for Varric's sake and began to trudge toward the lake. Ignore the concerned look of the cook, that was the annoying one. She knew that she had lost weight since the battle with Corephyus. You feed a broken heart, or you starve it. She was certain a medic had once said a similar thing about fevers, but for a heart it seemed to be a similar principal.  
Eating was social, it usually brought about a sense of happiness, of fullness. 

She didn't want to be happy or full. She wanted to be angry and empty. It reminded her less. Nearing the lake, items dropping without care to soggy ground, a fire run dropped into the water, robes piling around her feet. White limb after limb, lowering herself into the water, murmurs of appreciation. Reaching back, long, magic calloused fingers groped for a small bar of Orleisian soap, rolling it to suds at her hips, only to be tossed back, fingers moving to scrub at shoulder length locks. Crickets sang, and frogs gaffed at her ritual. Cat tails and whistle reeds hummed, setting ripples dancing across the water, waving goodbye to the sun and hello to the moon. It was music in its own sense, her own tunes were better. Unthinking, a familiar song buzzed at her lips, continuing her bath. 

""Melava inan enansal  
ir su araval tu elvaral  
u na emma abelas  
in elgar sa vir mana  
in tu setheneran din emma na 

lath sulevin  
lath araval ena  
arla ven tu vir mahvir  
melana ‘nehn  
enasal ir sa lethalin" 

Sliding suds over her face, over narrowing shoulders, briefly cupping small breasts, down her navel, singing to herself. Liar. 

"hahren na melana sahlin  
emma ir abelas  
souver'inan isala hamin  
vhenan him dor'felas  
in uthenera na revas  
vir sulahn'nehn  
vir dirthera  
vir samahl la numin  
vir lath sa'vunin" 

"Enough!" it was not a real command, a plea. But it didn't matter, it halted the Dalish women's movements, heart throbbing, bones brittle. She knew eventually it would happen. She was prepared for this. Liar. It hurt, it burned, a knife through her belly would have been preferable. But the adrenaline, it was worth it. "Enough.." 

"In ancient times, only Fen'Harel could walk without fear among both our gods and the Forgotten Ones, for although he is kin to the gods of the People, the Forgotten Ones knew of his cunning ways and saw him as one of their own. And that is how Fen'Harel tricked them. Our gods saw him as a brother, and they trusted him when he said that they must keep to the heavens while he arranged a truce. And the Forgotten Ones trusted him also when he said he would arrange for the defeat of our gods, if only the Forgotten Ones would return to the abyss for a time. They trusted Fen'Harel, and they were all of them betrayed. And FenHarel sealed them away so they could never again walk among the People." arching back she was able to see him, stare at him as she rinsed her hair, only closing her eyes to run chase suds with water away from her face. She opened her eyes, he was still there. Turning she bowed "Fen'Harel" 

"Enough" he shook his head, swallowing thickly. His eyes searched hers and she watched as confusion turned to sorrow, pain, wretched pain. 

"Oh, were you watching our battle?" she cocked her head at the...at him. He was here, she was hoping he was. She had felt his presence, at every half empty plate, every glass of wine, every eulogy, every utterance of his name. It had been forty-five days. Forty-five days and he had finally shown his face. It hurt, maybe she shouldn't have egged him on. Seeing his face, it wasn't worth the pain. Liar. "You know, such shouts during the thick of battle are normal for our...for my people" she watched, unconcerned with the snark painted on her mouth. She crossed her arms, covering herself, watching as he took one step. Two step. Three step, now he was in the water. She watched, wary, he waded towards her. It was his hands that reached her first, thumbs traveling her hairline, followed by shuddering. Verification to her realness. Pain/ But the adrenaline, it was worth it. 

"Enough" he breathed. Over her brow, the bridge of a once broken nose, cheek bones, ear lobes, ear tips, jaw line, neck, collarbone. "Enough" Liar. Resistance was not an option, gooseflesh cloaking her like a second skin. Large hands. His Hands. Her biceps, his hands. Her forearms, his hands. Her wrists, his hands, elbows, hands. collar bone, hands. Shaking hands, pausing hands. 

"Garas" (come). "Fen'Harel Garas" kisses. Hot kisses, wet kisses. Garas, an ever reparative chant. Shuddering his mouth against hers, sliding, tongue against tongue. Flesh against cloth. Lack of oxygen meant dizziness. Dizziness, lust, fear results in fumbling fingers. Desperate kisses, broken only to remove the barriers between now two naked bodies. Mouth gone from hers. Fingers hiding breasts . Large hands, small breasts. Hand full. To much for a mouth. Trembling torsos, muffled cries. Once again hot kisses, not wet with lake water. Salty, warm, tears. A pause, confused eyes searching her own. Questions. Why? Fingers clenching at newly pronounced hips. They weren't this prominent a month ago. Why? 

"Explanations" sigh. Fingers groping masculine trait shoulders as if needing leverage. Liar. Fear. Don't run. No on was leaving. Liar. At least not now, despite the hurt. But the adrenaline was worth it. "Why waste food on the body, time. Why waste it on the body when the root is lacking. When it is the soul that is malnourished?" Almost riddles. Philosophy. Question for a question. His game not hers. You must sleep in the bed you make. 

'Enough" he choked. Sobbed. Face hidden against shoulder. Fingers on her hips, legs around hips, fingers asking for permission. 

"Not enough" she corrected "Not enough!" Full. Ever so full. Man and woman. Women and Man. Immortal and Mortal. The edge of the lake, red and mud. Back so cold, front so hot. Rock, Rock. "Fen' Harel" 

"Enough!!" Rage. Anger. Hurt. Shame. Plea. Her response, silence. No words as arms pulled her closer, the slightest stutter of his hips, her hips, his. Punctured with the strangled noises of pleasure. Pulled tighter, chest against chest. No, heart against heart.

"Fen' H-" 

"Enough!" 

"….Solas" a thrill, heartbreaking. A now forbidden title. It would hurt later. But the adrenaline, it was worth it. Startled eyes, two sets, full to the top, regret, remorse, lost. "Solas" Tears. Pleasure. Finger nails against bare flesh. Scratch. Teeth and pulse. Kisses and sobs, cries, and pleasure. Names and pleasure and sorrow."Solas?" shuddered breath, hot flesh, sensitive. "I pray for the Dread Wolf to forever catch my scent" shudders.

"Enough" Liar. Now accompanied with a shaking head. Soft kisses. Tentative. Smoothing hands, tracing, remembering. Aching. Soft kisses. Goodbyes. Hopefully, Liar. But the Adrenaline, it was worth it.


End file.
